


Hush-Hush

by Fudgyokra



Series: Limits [4]
Category: Green Arrow (Comics)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Cheating, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub Undertones, Drama, First Time Bottoming, Frottage, Jealousy, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, No Refractory Period, Overstimulation, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Self-Doubt, Sex Toys, Unhealthy Relationships, heavily mentioned DinahOllie and briefly mentioned RoyDick, very little plot but it's there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-12 16:07:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18449993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fudgyokra/pseuds/Fudgyokra
Summary: Roy knew he was always destined to be the second choice.





	Hush-Hush

**Author's Note:**

> I didn’t mean for the original fun and porny oneshot to lead to this series of mega angst, but here we are.

“Oh god. Oh _god._ ”

“I told you it would be fun.”

“Yes, you’re always right. Now just—shut _up,_ I’m gonna—”

“Already?”

Roy groaned, grabbing one of the long-discarded pillows and pressing it to his face with both hands until he felt his flush die down. Only Oliver could make sex this frustrating.

Currently, and following a pattern that was beginning to grow more frequent as of late, the man had him laid out on the sheets, arching his hips into the touch he was being given with such fervor that his muscles were flexed almost painfully to hold the arch. Between his legs were both of Ollie’s hands, one of them stroking leisurely along his cock, thumb rubbing maddening circles into the head with each pass, the other holding a vibrating toy in place inside him, nestled sweetly against his prostate and buzzing low enough to keep him riding the line between orgasming and tensing in apprehension of doing so.

He lacked something to push him over. The vibrator was completely still instead of offering the night’s earlier exploratory thrusts, which had tripped him into his first finish with a surprised sound barely shy of a wail, and now that he’d already caved once, the teasing play wasn’t as welcome as it was then. Still, he refused to beg for more stimulation, and that included trying to grind down on it or to ask for it to be turned higher. Instead, he suffered through the gentle vibrations with gritted teeth and straining thighs, hoping the man would take pity on him.

The toy came out with an embarrassingly _wet_ noise. Roy might have keened, or it could have just as easily been a whine.

“I’m getting the other one,” Ollie dutifully informed him. Then, smugly tacked on: “Relax.”

He didn’t, but he did at least remove the pillow from his face.

While the vibrator was new, hardly an hour out of the box, the thicker, softer toy that breached him moments later was familiar. Ever since their trysts started becoming more common, more heated—with Roy’s insistence that the man bed him good and proper—the absurdly overpriced dildo had been the thing keeping him sane while also absolving Oliver of any penetrative duties. That was putting it kindly. Though there hadn’t been any discussion on the matter, past the initial humiliating begging, Roy had a faint suspicion that Ollie avoided penetration on the condition of guilt. As if he thought what they got up to wasn’t quite _real,_ and being inside the boy in that way was going to bring it all crashing down into dark, dismal reality. They weren’t supposed to be doing this even without that extra step, but he didn’t feel like broaching the subject, especially when he was so close to cresting over into bliss, his toes curled into the sheets and Ollie looking down at him so pleased, like he liked him to.

When it was all the way in, Roy felt his back hit the mattress in nothing short of pure relief. The insides of his thighs were slick with lubricant, allowing the messy slide of Ollie manipulating the toy to hit all the right notes and prompt a low, deep moan at the first curve of it back into him.

The vibrator was still buzzing. He watched Ollie palm it with his free hand and scoot forward, so he straddled Roy’s hips. He had to reach behind himself to hold the other toy in place, which was when innocent curiosity blossomed into something more like wariness. “Hey…” Roy began, prepared to dispute whatever ridiculous thing the man planned to do to him this time.

Oliver bore down, his cock sliding with dizzying lightness atop Roy’s. He held the vibrator at the seam where they met and _pressed,_ holding himself down against the boy as the buzzing hit them both with a shock of delicious, perfect sensation. Another long moan fought its way out of Roy’s throat, and that was well before the two of them started moving together. Hips rutted in practiced harmony, a mockery of the real thing that nonetheless sent sparks crackling across his vision the second he screwed his eyes closed and parted his lips for a desperate breath. Then the toy clicked up to a higher setting, and he jerked upward with such abruptness that his sharp cry met with a pleased hiss from above as they both barreled toward the finish.

They moved with recognizable desperation. When Oliver leaned down and caught Roy’s mouth, he wrapped his arms around the man’s neck and held him there for the length of one sloppy kiss. After that, the best they could manage wasn’t much more than panting against one another’s mouths, sharing heated breaths. Still, Roy managed at least a little cheek in the last few moments as he panted, “The new gift gets a definite yes from me.”

“I only get things that nice for you,” Ollie said, with a grin that nearly touched Roy’s lips. A laugh, another sloppy, brief kiss, and then: “Don’t tell Dinah.”

Roy bit the inside of his cheek to keep his sounds under control as Ollie closed his eyes, brows pinched together handsomely over the blissful face he allowed to slip past his defenses. For a second all he did was watch, and then, when Ollie allowed him more than that, a noise of his own, raw and honest and stunningly soft, Roy came too, his fingernails biting into the bare skin of the man’s back.

The vibrator clicked off and the toy slid gingerly out from inside him. He sighed at the loss.

What would have been a pleasurable moment of afterglow suddenly felt irreparably soiled, and although Ollie pretended not to notice, the change was practically palpable. The two of them got cleaned and dressed in silence, at least until Roy was pulling at the notches on his belt and finally, frustrated, had to say something.

_Don’t tell Dinah._

“So,” he began, watching the tense of Ollie’s shoulders make itself known beneath the jacket he was superfluously straightening by the lapels, “what do you think?”

“About what?” There was an edge to his voice that suggested a warning Roy wasn’t going to heed.

“Come on. You ever plan on leaving her?” A beat of silence was all he allowed before he snorted a fake laugh and trucked onward. He dropped the very real desire that burned beneath the surface of the question in exchange for a jocose tone that’d hide it all like a buried flame. “It’s just, I’m starting to feel a little bit like the ‘other woman,’ know what I mean?”

“Ha!” Oliver smiled at him, looking and sounding every bit as mirthful as he would have anyone believe he was, when Roy knew well enough that he was not. He was only playing along. “Kind of hard to cancel a wedding when you got the venue booked.”

Roy felt his blood ice over but held himself steady anyway. “When did that happen?” He couldn’t look anywhere but at the floor between his feet where he sat, as he had so many times before, at the edge of the bed.

“A couple days ago,” Ollie answered, like it was an easy fact to admit. It could have been, and Roy wouldn’t have known any better. Whenever he considered the lies they were telling Dinah—rather, the truths they _weren’t_ telling—he had thought very little about the lack of truths he’d be receiving in turn. His mouth set into a line without his permission, a muscle in his jaw sliding with the tension.

By the time he looked up again, he only caught the back of the man’s head as he snatched his keys from atop the dresser and said, “I’m gone. Catch you for dinner, kiddo.”

“Later, old man,” he said, devoid of emotion.

The door clicked closed.

//

Dinner was quiet.

Amid the clinking of silverware and glasses, Roy was developing a thousand different responses for anything Dinah asked, because if the silence of the table meant anything, he was positive it had to be that she’d found out what was going on. As if reading his thoughts, or perhaps his apprehension, she cleared her throat. Ollie gave a quiet little “Oh” before setting his own fork down and wrapping an arm around his fiancée’s shoulders. When she smiled over at him, Roy guessed his initial assumption was wrong.

If nothing was amiss, he wondered why everything had been so uncomfortably quiet. The answer, unlike anything he’d been expecting, came with an awkward smile on Ollie’s behalf, and then: “Since we’re officially tying the knot,” he began, as if Roy could have possibly forgotten, “we wanted to run something by you, champ.”

Roy’s mouth curled into a derisive frown. “I’m not going to be your best man.”

Dinah frowned back at him, but Ollie only snorted a laugh. “Hal’s my best man.”

“Then what’s going on?”

Dinah’s smile returned shier than before. From the pocket of her neat-cut leather jacket, she withdrew a piece of paper, and before she even unfolded it, Roy felt a cold weight like a drop of ice hit his stomach. Try as he might to keep his reaction under wraps, he couldn’t help but feel as though he blanched instantaneously.

“We were thinking, if you agree to it,” she said, slowly, as if testing waters that were already tremulous, “we might legally adopt you.”

Roy scooted his chair back from the table with a dismaying scraping sound.

Dinah didn’t seem shocked, but he felt a pinch of guilt at the expression she wore, which looked more than a little let down. “We knew you might be wary, but we hoped you’d give it a while to think about.”

He glanced at Oliver, who was looking oh-so intently at his wine glass, fiddling idly with the stem.

Before he could make the decision to stand and flee—in fact, his hands still white-knuckled the edge of the table—he felt a socked foot knock against his ankle. A warning or a plea, he couldn’t tell. By some miracle, he got his hands to relax and scooted back in, if only to placate Dinah. She was far too sweet to be dealing with his menace, even if he felt it was deserved for this blight on his mood.

To make matters worse, the foot that rested warmly against his ankle trailed a telltale path up his leg, and nothing in their plane of existence could have prevented him from gripping his fork like a weapon and aggressively digging the tines into his steak, wishing it was Ollie’s leg instead.

Dinah, taking it to mean something other than what it was, refolded the adoption paperwork and tapped it back into her pocket. “Don’t feel pressured,” she said, just as Oliver’s foot nudged its way between Roy’s thighs and curved over the crotch of his jeans.

His eyes, burning, flickered up to their faces, and while Dinah was thankfully looking down at her plate, Ollie held his stare uncaringly through blond lashes as he sipped at his wine.

Roy gritted his teeth. “I’ll think about it,” he lied.

//

He left for patrol early, and Oliver still caught up with him. Roy heard him before he saw him. Given the advantage, he opted to be the first one to get the words weighing heavy on his tongue out into the air, which were, “I’m not going to do it.”

Booted steps crunched along the gravel beneath, stopping just behind Roy’s heels. He tried to focus on the sounds rather than the scant distance between them, which proved to be about as useful as could be expected when hands meaningfully wrapped around his hips. At the pull, he let himself be moved, felt the heat even through layers of clothes as they touched.

Eventually, Ollie answered, “I know you’re not.”

“Come to finish what you started at the dinner table?” Roy asked, unamused. “You’ve got some nerve.”

“And isn’t it charming?” The grin in his voice unmistakable. Pretty soon that grin was against the shell of his ear, and the words murmured hotly against his skin made the rest of him prickle with something deep and resonating. “Ever wonder what it’d be like if we could do it right here in an alley just like this?”

Roy swallowed down the impetus to fantasize and narrowed his eyes. “No. I prefer to keep my shame confined to the bedroom. Or a strip club, if I’m feeling festive.”

“Your by-the-books birdie boyfriend buy you a fake ID?”

“You’re unbelievable.” Annoyed, he pushed himself away from the man and turned to look at him, but before he could get the proper words out, a handful of motorbikes sped by, bringing with them raucous laughter and a single hundred-dollar bill fluttering in the breeze. It landed, with a slow descent, on the ground at their feet.

When he looked up, Ollie was looking back with a befitting smirk. “Guess we’ll pick this up later, eh?”

Roy grabbed for an arrow and twirled it between his fingers. “Just try and keep up.”

//

“You’re blaming _me_ for this?”

“I didn’t stutter, did I?”

Door, slammed. Bows, thrown down with twin clatters. Boots, stomping. “You’re crazy! It’s your own damn fault we didn’t catch up in time!”

“We caught up fine, kid. The problem was that _shot_ you made.”

“So I hit the wrong guy! Sue me! They were all wearing masks. Far as I’m concerned, it’s one more criminal down for the count.”

“Not the right one! We needed the leader to take down—”

“We can bust their operation later.”

“Don’t turn this around. You know damn well—”

“Do I know? You’re treating me like a slipshod rookie.”

A sigh cleaved through the argument for just long enough that the boiling blood in Roy’s veins simmered, but it lasted for mere seconds before the words were out of Oliver’s mouth. “Sometimes you act like it, Roy.”

He bit back the burn in his throat, swallowed around it like a lump that just wouldn’t go away. His next inhale came through the nose, and it seemed like a struggle just to get oxygen. “Well then,” he began, voice tight, “why am I still around, huh?”

Another sigh. “You know I don’t mean it like that.”

He paused, considered dinner, and made himself look the man in the eye just as Ollie peeled the domino from his face and set it on the counter, hat and gloves following. “You want me to be your _son,_ not your sidekick.” Even as he said the words, he didn’t believe them, but something inside him needed to hear them aloud. The worst part was, he didn’t know what he wanted the answer to be.

It didn’t matter, really. Oliver could call him whatever he wanted, marry Dinah under a sky full of clouds and have the perfect goddamn ceremony, and Roy would still crawl to him at night and spread his legs for praise, if the man would allow it. He’d do whatever it took to experience that touch, that affection, that _love,_ whether he was thought of as an unworthy apprentice, a wayward son, or the second choice in a relationship where he had no business being.

“That wasn’t my idea,” Ollie said, like Roy was crazy for even thinking it.

He clenched his teeth, peeled the mask from his face and threw it down. “Then _why,_ ” he repeated, voice dipping low as he took a step closer, “am I still here?” His mentor’s expression twisted into something unreadable. Beneath the initial emotion was hurt, and Roy liked it; felt a sick enjoyment from the self-sabotage. “Am I your arm candy?” The cruel twist of his mouth might have been a smile if he’d been in good humor, but instead it came off more like a wicked sneer.

“Don’t do this,” Ollie said. He looked so tired, like how Roy felt, and he craved more of that emotional response in a way he hadn’t craved anything else since he’d first gotten it. It was something painfully addictive, and, of course, he had problems letting things go.

“You can say it,” he said. “You can tell me I’m her inferior. I’m what she is to you, but less important.” For whatever reason, the flash of danger in Ollie’s eyes at the mention of Dinah felt like a delicious sort of victory, and so Roy dared to take another step forward, meeting that gaze head-on. “But maybe I’m not. Maybe _I’m_ the first choice, and _she’s_ the scrap meat.”

“Roy,” Ollie warned, voice pitching higher. His muscles bunched with restrained power, like he wanted to throw him against the wall and was just barely holding back. If he did, Roy would take it. Smiling, even.

“I can just picture it. We get our perfect little wedding venue and our honeymoon suite, and we make love all night with a bottle of champagne by the bedside because you know you wanted me all along.” He stopped, hooked a fist into the straps at the front of Ollie’s suit, and delighted in the frown he was now seeing up close. “And then you come home and bend _her_ over and fuck her like the backup whore she is.”

A palm connected hard with his cheek.

The sting that exploded across the side of his face paled in comparison to the sting of his own words, painful in their truth, as his voice climbed to a yell. “Just say it! Say that’s all I am to you!” He hovered sideways over the countertop where he’d landed, cheek cradled in one hand, the other splayed atop their discarded masks. “The least you could fucking do is tell _one_ of us the truth!” His voice cracked. That, stupidly, is what pushed him over the edge.

It wasn’t the tearful resolution he thought he’d be pushed to, but instead a sudden, unfeeling drop from the previous bout of anger, as if everything from before had suddenly been wiped away with the admission. With a somewhat wounded noise, he rescinded his snarl. Idly, he played with the straps of the masks beneath his fingers, until a larger hand settled atop his and forced his gaze upward.

Oliver’s brows were furrowed over a look of genuine concern. This time when the man spoke his name, it sounded so honest he had to believe him when he said, “Roy…you mean the world to me.”

He didn’t wait for an apology, or for an explanation. Didn’t wait for confirmation of whether he was loved more or less or the same as Dinah. Instead, he twisted around and wound his arms around Ollie’s neck, yanking him down into a heated kiss he was pleased to earn a startled gasp from.

That was the end of Ollie’s hesitations as his hands found their familiar perch on Roy’s hips and pulled them flush. Between their mouths a soft moan, unfettered, fell. Neither of them seemed to care who it came from, just that it was there, and it was real.

They clumsily stumbled into the master bedroom, Ollie hitting the bed first on his back and Roy climbing after him, thighs spread on either side of the man’s hips. Hungrily, he leaned down and reignited their kiss, unwilling to break away just yet. When he did pull back, it was only a hair’s width. “I want you to fuck me,” he breathed. The meaning couldn’t be missed, but that didn’t seem to dissuade Oliver, who flipped them over with a kind of grace that had Roy’s mind reeling.

After a brief root-around for the lubricant kept in the bedside drawer and an even more brief moment taken to shuck off clothing, Ollie’s mouth found Roy’s jawline, lips ghosting over the pulse point before lowering to the crook of his neck, where the kissing became more substantial and the resulting wet heat had the boy’s eyes rolling back in his skull.

A hand gripped his hip and propped him up, and while Ollie introduced teeth to his exploratory map of Roy’s throat, he slipped two fingers inside him with relative ease.

Breathlessly, Roy said, “I’m still—from earlier…”

“I’m a little bigger than those toys,” Oliver replied, and Roy huffed a series of breathy laughs that caught on until they were both laughing at nothing.

“I know,” he answered, at last. “I want—god, I want it.”

“Good boy. Good boy…”

Roy spread his legs wider and rocked his hips down onto the hand still probing insistently at him. He was sure he made quite a picture laid out on the sheets with his hair fanned wildly around his head, neck littered in pink bruises all the way down to his collar, lips swollen from kissing and parted to match the half-lidded stare he could feel was all pupil.

“Daddy,” he said without meaning to. Oliver withdrew his fingers and slicked himself up so beautifully it made Roy’s mouth water and so he repeated, less hesitantly, “ _Daddy._ ”

Ollie shushed him, not out of necessity but rather to offer something soothing in the wake of all that was going on. He curled over Roy’s yielding body and pulled his hips closer, lining himself up with conviction and yet doing nothing but rutting beneath him as he left love bites across his pale chest.

Roy hoped he wasn’t going to make him beg. He was desperate enough to do it, especially when teeth closed around a nipple and tugged, pulling a sound from him too breathless to be anything but a soft, mellow gasp. His fingers tangled in blond hair without meaning to, as if moving on autopilot to hold him there until more of that sensation was delivered—which, with a chuckle, it was. The second time, he bit harder, and Roy’s lips parted without a sound. The third time he _sucked,_ hard, and only left until the bud was puffed and red from the attention. Then he simply moved on to the other, and by then Roy was barely holding onto himself, rutting mindlessly against the heat he craved.

Finally, he felt more significant pressure as Ollie gripped himself by the base and guided it forward, his other hand pressing finger-shaped bruises into the underside of Roy’s thigh.

The moment he was breached, he was beginning to rethink how easy it would be. There was a slight pull from skin that a lubricated piece of silicone simply didn’t have, and, despite his assertions, the added thickness did indeed take some getting used to. He felt the head push inside and he groaned, half out of pleasure, half out of sheer discomfort at the unfamiliar weight.

When his eyes squeezed closed and his jaw tightened, Oliver stopped, which wasn’t what he wanted at all. Past a litany of high-pitched _oh_ s, he managed, eloquently: “Shit—I can—go ahead, I’m fine.”

For a moment he was afraid Ollie would reconsider this whole attempt. But then he kept pushing, lifting Roy’s thigh a little higher and using the other to prise him apart as if wanting to see the view better. Unable to feel even the slightest bit debauched, Roy only groaned again as he took the man deeper, until he was sure he couldn’t take anymore—and then _did._ Opening up around him, chest heaving with either the strain or the hardly-fathomable pleasure or some bizarre combination of both, he felt Ollie finally bottom out with a hiss of breath that spelled how much he approved.

Sure enough, when he bent down to press a kiss to one freckled shoulder, he said, “I’m proud of you.”

Roy bared his teeth in half a grimace, face burning. “As if taking cock is such a brilliant accomplishment.”

Ollie’s expression was no doubt mischievous. Slowly, he worked his way from shoulder to jaw, then to the corner of Roy’s mouth as he answered, “Oh, it is. You feel that?” Presently, he pressed down on the boy’s lower stomach and rolled his hips as if he could get any deeper. “You wanted to take daddy’s cock like a big boy and you did. I’m impressed.”

He wanted to demand he shut up, but no force was stronger than the flush of arousal that flooded him at every embarrassing compliment. Even with his eyes still closed, he could practically see the man’s grin.

“Look,” came the order, and, somewhat unwilling, Roy cracked one eye open and peered down. He wasn’t convinced there was anything to look at until Ollie pushed his thighs back and dragged him closer. The position became infinitely lewder, and it seemed to serve its purpose when he could see Ollie slip out a mere inch and then slide leisurely back in, his body taking it in what looked to be such an easy, desperate way.

Roy’s mouth fell into another soundless ‘o’ while Ollie badgered him about how well he was doing, how he opened up for it like he was meant for this. They hadn’t even really moved yet, and the more he thought about it, the more impatient he was getting.

Ollie’s hands hooked beneath Roy’s knees and held them there as he pulled back. The first couple thrusts were experimental, and each one fostered a hissed curse that went from alarmed to something smoother, more guttural, until it sounded like something out of one of Roy’s shoddy porn flicks—and it was his own damn voice. With his last spark of clear-headedness, he lamented the humanity of it all.

Not even the wet sounds of skin sliding with the lubricant felt as filthy as Roy’s moaned “ _Fuck,_ fuck, fuck!” Oliver seemed to share the sentiment, because he pressed a thumb between his lips and told him to put his dirty mouth to use, and everything after that went pleasantly hazy. He sucked on the man’s thumb like it was a lifeline, and when it left his mouth with a pop, he let him smear saliva across his lips without complaint.

“Such a good boy,” he said. With a hint of possessiveness that had Roy practically keening, he pushed his legs further back, thighs to his own chest, and seemed to go impossibly deeper. Between Roy’s humiliating, watery shouts, he grunted, “Been saving this just for me, baby? Tell me.”

“Ye— _es,_ daddy.”

Ollie shifted, hit a new spot that made Roy _scream,_ and then: “Say it. Tell me how bad you wanted me to fuck you open, daddy’s precious little virgin.”

Roy was as much a virgin as Oliver was, at least he thought so, but it didn’t matter what was truthful in that moment, only what sounded good. And when he spoke, it _sounded_ honest. “Waited for you. Wanted to be all yours—feels so good—” He didn’t remember when he’d hit such mindless delirium, but he wasn’t complaining.

Fingers reached for his throat and wrapped loosely around it, and Roy came with blinding force, a raw scream, and an arch that was bordering on painful. Oliver cursed, instead moving both hands to Roy’s hips.

Once his legs lost their support, they flopped down with complete exhaustion, but Ollie kept fucking into him, repeatedly ramming against his prostate with force that sent spots dancing across his blacked vision. Coming down from the high meant that the stimulation had become painful: Bright shocks of sensation so good it curled angrily in his gut and tugged a short, wavering moan from his lips. Despite himself, there were tears gathering along his lashline. “Too much,” he panted.

Ollie reached up and tweaked one swollen, sensitive nipple, making him arch again, trembling. “Daddy’s gotta finish too, princess,” he said, voice a low rumble that felt as though it vibrated something loose in Roy’s chest. Impossibly, he felt his arousal ramping higher, desperate to cum again against every other iota of sense in his body. “Consider this payback for mouthing off earlier.” Despite its reference to a serious argument, it was delivered as if it were a joke. They might have laughed if it weren’t difficult to even breathe in that moment.

Leaning over him, panting, Ollie’s fingers curled into the sheets. In turn, Roy gripped hard—nails and all, sure to leave marks—onto his back, pawing him that much closer as the unending barrage of pleasure tracked tears down his cheeks. He hardly felt like himself as he dumbly moaned a sincere, “Yes, yes, oh— _yes!_ ”

Over Oliver’s shoulder, bleary eyes picked out the shape of a person standing in the doorway.

There was no icy drop in his blood this time; when Roy blinked away the tears and saw, with frightening clarity, the image of Dinah there, her face unreadable, hand resting on the doorjamb, he couldn’t feel anything but guilt past the burning arousal, mixing into a toxic beast of a thing that made him wish he had never lied to her like this.

She didn’t leave. She watched in silence as Ollie sang his praises and said, “I forgive you, baby,” against the mottled skin of his neck.

Roy gasped in a breath, dragging his nails down the man’s back, and then they were hitting the peak together with twin groans. On the tail end, Roy closed his eyes and sobbed out a mantra of “I’m sorry”s until he reopened his eyes and Dinah was gone, no longer a ghostly figure in the hall.

“It’s okay,” Ollie whispered against his ear, lavishing him with chaste kisses as they came down together. “It’s all right, I got you.”

And Roy didn’t have the heart to admit it wasn’t him he’d been apologizing to.


End file.
